


A Purpose Remains for You Yet

by Kittycattycat



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Dysphoria, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, I don't know what this fic is but it's not nice, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, This isn't all about being trans I just don't know what else to tag, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, duck has some mental health issues for sure here, he dies and comes back idk what to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittycattycat/pseuds/Kittycattycat
Summary: His fifteenth birthday brought grief upon him, but release would not come.





	A Purpose Remains for You Yet

It was the day of his fifteenth birthday, but Duck Newton wanted it to be over already. A chocolate cake from the local deli’s bakery section frosted with the wrong name atop it in pink icing sat waiting for him on the dining room table that morning. It was cold, had been in the fridge all night. He liked cold cake. Nobody else in the family did. Not his mother, his father, or his sister. So they did this for him. That was the only reason he ate a slice— sugary sweets always made him horribly, miserably sick.

He went off to school as quick as he could. He did not want to see those pink and purple birthday decorations any longer. He hated pink. Such an ugly, ugly color. He hated living in such a small town on days like these, when every kid and their mother and their father and their father’s mother knew the occasion and “congratulated” him accordingly. He wished no one would talk to him, pretend he didn't exist.

Birthdays were such torture.

\--

It was one day after his fifteenth birthday, but to him this day was so much better than the last. It was Saturday, start of the weekend, and Duck decided very quickly to spend it sitting inside his closet, curled up on his side in his thick and oversized coat on the floor. Maybe he'd read the old men's fashion magazine he'd stolen from his dad one day after he'd finished reading it, just before it went into the trash or ended up being used for a floor cover to keep sawdust from his heavy working boots off the cleaned floor. 

The corners were bent and most pages had small spots of color rubbed off on the out-facing sides from being thumbed through so many times, but it was one of Duck’s favorite things still. Big furry coats and giant boots and plaid shirts. He wished he could own them. He wished he could have asked for those things for his birthday. But no. It wasn't right of him to ask something like that. 

Next year, maybe next year. Maybe then he would be able to ask. Or maybe next year he wouldn't even need to.

\--

It was two days after his fifteenth birthday, but also several long years before Duck Newton was called “he.” So a “she” he remained, for seven more drawn-out years, occasionally accepting a half-hearted “they” from people who felt Duck strange for cutting his hair short and wearing such baggy clothes to hide his body from the cold of the winter and the gaze of the world. “They” was something he could accept. Not what he wanted, but what he could accept. And after all, he could only accept what he was offered from others.

Gender was so confusing. Pronouns made his head spin. Oh how he hated it.

At least “Duck” was allowed, but only outside of his home— never by his mother, never never. She called him a name he hated, that made bile crawl up the back of his throat every time he heard it. But there was nothing he could do. 

Jane never would let go of her sister. Duck didn't have the heart to tell her she never had one to begin with. Duck was Duck. That was all it was, forever and always.

These thoughts flooded Duck’s head and bashed his brain into a wall. It felt like someone was trying to tear his spine out.

He stayed in his room that day, trying not to sob into his uncomfortably hot pillow when he saw his school bag filled with books and pencils sitting by his dresser. He never wanted to go back.

\--

It was three days after his fifteenth birthday, but Duck Newton still felt like just a little kid when he threw himself off the bridge. His heart raced and thundered hard as the air whipped his hair behind him. It was nothing like he imagined, the fall. Nothing like it at all, but there was also nothing he could do. So he accepted it passively, as he did with many other things he would never have to deal with again once he hit the water and drowned. The blue waves were rushing at him so quickly he could hardly breathe. It was exhilarating. It made him want to die. Which, coincidentally, he would not have to simply want for much longer.

And then, he found himself atop the bridge again.

"YOU HAVE A JOB TO DO," an unknown voice echoing in his brain told him. It felt like he'd been body slammed by a star wrestler into a pile of boulders, cracking his skull hard and giving him a concussion. The clouds shone bright and reflected sun, the concrete below his feet swirled through his vision, and from the winds the voice continue on and on “NO DEATH FOR YOU YET, DUCK NEWTON. NO DEATH FOR YOU YET.” 

Then and there, Duck Newton vomited hard onto the concrete.


End file.
